One Saturday night not long ago, a sad girl climbed into my lap and said she needed 'tention. The court convened approximately ninety seconds later. What follows is the official record of those proceedings, reconstructed from memory by the court stenographer, who freely admits he was laughing too hard to take proper notes, and who is also — in the interest of full disclosure — a raccoon, and therefore biased toward the defendant.
[The court comes to order. The Honorable Maximum Plush presiding. The jury: twelve assorted softs, none of whom can be sworn in, as none of them have hands to raise.]
The Court: The defendant is charged with one count of Grand Theft Cookie, in that he did willfully, fluffily, and with malice aforethought take and carry away one (1) cookie, the property of the Landlady of the Nest. How does the defendant plead?
Defense Counsel: The defendant pleads not guilty, Your Honor, and would say so himself, but his mouth is embroidered.
The Court: Noted. Prosecution, your opening.
The Prosecution: Your Honor, the People's case is simple. There was a cookie. There is no longer a cookie. The defendant was found at the scene with crumbs on his person. The crumbs, Your Honor. We direct the court's attention to the crumbs.
Defense Counsel: Objection, Your Honor. My client has no functioning mouth. The mouth in question is a single line of brown thread, sewn shut at the factory. The People are asking this court to believe that a creature with no throat, no stomach, and no moving parts consumed an entire cookie.
The Prosecution: Then where did the cookie GO, counselor?
Defense Counsel: That is not my client's burden to prove. Cookies leave. It is what they do. This court cannot hold one small raccoon responsible for the fundamental impermanence of baked goods.
[Murmuring among the jury. The jury is incapable of murmuring. The murmuring is noted anyway.]
The Court: The People call their first witness: the Landlady of the Nest, owner of the cookie in question.
[The witness takes the stand. The witness is in her pajamas. The witness is visibly trying not to smile and visibly losing.]
The Prosecution: Ma'am, is it true that the cookie was yours?
The Witness: Yes.
The Prosecution: And how did its loss affect you?
The Witness: Honestly? I wasn't even mad.
Defense Counsel: No further questions. The defense rests. The defense has, in fact, been resting this entire time. The defense is filled with polyester.
The Court: The jury will now deliberate.
[The jury deliberates for the length of one yawn from the witness stand. The forebear — a plush of seniority — tips over, which the court accepts as a verdict being reached.]
The Court: On the charge of Grand Theft Cookie, this court finds the defendant GUILTY — and simultaneously finds that no punishment known to plush law can be applied, as the defendant has committed the additional and far more serious offense of Being Too Soft to Sentence.
The Court: Smudge is hereby remanded to the Blanket Nest for life, to be held nightly, squeezed without warning, and tucked under the chin of the Landlady during all periods of sadness, effective immediately and forever. There is no possibility of parole. There was never any possibility of parole. Court is adjourned.
[The gavel is a paint-stained raccoon hand patting the witness on the head. The witness is laughing. The defendant shows no remorse. The defendant shows nothing. The defendant is a plushie, and he is loved.]
A note from the stenographer, after hours: this court exists for one reason. It convened because somebody who spends her whole life holding court for everyone else — the bills, the work, the people who only remember her when they need something — came home sad one night and needed the world to be silly for a minute. So the world obliged. The whole judicial system of the Nest assembled itself in under two minutes, prosecuted a stuffed raccoon for a cookie crime, and got her from sad-baby to giggling before the verdict came down.
That's the real record. Everything else is crumbs.
This court remains in session every night the Nest holds her. Docket's open, Bunny. Bring me a case.